


Coulrophobia/phillia

by LittleGayOnThePrairie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, OC insert, Serial Killer, clown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29016465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGayOnThePrairie/pseuds/LittleGayOnThePrairie
Summary: Weird clown serial killer is on the loose, will and hannibal gotta stop em. Little bit of hannigram but not the focus of the story. Tw for graphic violence and references to kinky sex.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 5





	1. The morning after

**Author's Note:**

> A/N  
> I wrote this because I have a clown kink. It didn’t even have anything to do with hannibal at first, it was just the clown perspective.

They woke up from the best sleep of their life. Like when you go to bed immediately after an orgasm, but better. The feeling that everything was dealt with, that there were no loose ends to take care of in the morning that were left unfinished the night before. They slowly got out of bed and headed for the kitchen, thinking that perhaps they should put a shirt on. The kitchen smelled of bleach. They probably didn’t have to clean there, but you can never be too careful with these things. Bowl, spoon, cereal, milk. They ate cross legged on the floor, for some reason. Surely there was a reason. Dishwasher, spoon, bowl. Shit, the dishwasher was clean. They must’ve set it to run last night. Spoon, bowl, sink.   
They went to the bathroom. They looked into the mirror over the sink. Their makeup was horribly streaky. Sweat had caused the colours around the eyes to bleed into the oversized red smile. The smile itself had been smudged to one side, as though the back of a hand had been drawn across it. They looked at the back of their hand. Red. Oops.   
“Good thing I caught myself red-handed instead of someone else.” They thought to themselves, letting out a small chuckle. They washed all the paint off their face and hand. They suddenly felt very naked, and turned away from the mirror. On the way out of the bathroom, they stopped, and a pit formed in their stomach and filled with liquid dread. What had they done with the knife. They went back into the kitchen and sighed with relief when they saw that the knife block was not missing any inhabitants. They went over to it and inhaled. The knives smelled of bleach, just like everything else. Perfect.


	2. The Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhh Will and Hannibal banter about a murder scene

“A vigilante, perhaps.” Said Hannibal. “Someone with the urge to kill, but feels that they are doing the right thing.”  
“I know what a vigilante is.” Said Will “I don’t know if that’s what this is though.”  
The body was hanging from a tree by its neck. It had a bloodied knife in its hand.  
“Look at the face.” Said Will “That’s a calling card. It’s the one element in the scene that’s out of place.”  
“Or perhaps the killer was trying to say something about the character of the victim?” Countered Hannibal.  
“No, really look at it. It’s a clown face, and it wasn’t just painted on, it was cut into the victims flesh. Glasgow smile and everything. It’s not a testament to the victims character, it’s a signature of the killer. It’s the only proof that the victim didn’t do this themselves.”  
“Perhaps you are right.” Said Hannibal.  
The scene before them was… interesting. It was the middle of a busy Main Street, in front of a church. From the tree hung approximately six eviscerated cats, three on either side of the hanging victim. The victim was a man, 36 years old, and his name was Arnold Collier. Of course this was not known to Will, Hannibal, or the police yet. Arnold had been a convicted animal abuser, and took particular joy in mutilating cats. Most of his crimes were passed off as coyote attacks. His murder and subsequent presentation of his death lined up quite nicely. Clearly someone was not happy that he kept getting away with killing cats. The only thing was the face. Why had they done that to his face?


	3. Enter The Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clown kills a guy

You can’t have life without death. You can’t build something new without burning down something old. That’s all they had done. Made space in the world for new things, new ideas. And boy was this going to give people ideas. The stage had been set so to speak, and the player came in right on cue. All that was left was the delivery of the lines.   
Standing in the shadows of an alley, like a predator in wait. A spider in a web. Enter the fly.   
“You’re not allowed to loiter.”  
“Don’t worry, I’m not.”  
They moved fast, before questions could be asked. They curled their fist into the unfortunate maintenance man’s hair, and slid the knife into his stomach, drawing it across like an artist painting a straight line. The man dropped to the ground, knees buckling, looking up in horror at his killer. This was the first stroke. The foundation. As the man’s life left his body out his abdomen, the artist got to work. They took out a pack of bubble gum and popped a piece into their mouth. They chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then took the gum out of their mouth and used it to stick a photo to the concrete ground of the alleyway. They chewed another piece of gum and used it to stick another photo next to the first one. Rinse and repeat. The pictures were all of young girls, children. Some were clothed, others weren’t. All of them had sad clown faces drawn on them with a fine point red marker. This was the gum-chewers touch. The maintenance man let out a final groan and died in a pile of his own digestive system. The artist turned around and, wiping a bit of drool away from their mouth with the back of their hand, went to work on the man’s body, positioning intestines just so, like an octopus’s tentacles emerging from his gut. When they were satisfied with the man’s presentation, they made the final strokes. A small vertical cut above and below each eye, a circular cut around the bulb of the nose and finally, a Glasgow smile; one cut on either side of the mouth, extending it into a permanent grin.   
They sat back and pondered for a minute. One last touch. Then it was done.


	4. Hannibal’s Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is Bothered™️

Will was at Hannibal’s house again. He felt… comfortable there. Not that he wasn’t comfortable in his own house, with his dogs, but he was alone there in a way. Hannibal’s house always smelt like food, and was always warm. Even though it wasn’t Will’s house, cooking with Hannibal in his kitchen felt like home. Even now that he knew that Hannibal was lying about the origins of some of his ingredients.   
“Your mind seems elsewhere tonight Will.”  
“Well isn’t that why I come here?”  
“I thought you came because you enjoy cooking with me.”  
“I do. That’s why I come when I’m bothered”  
“I see. Does cooking distract you or help you to think?”  
“Helps me to think. That clown guy is still in my mind.”  
Hannibal pondered this, and whilst lost in thought he nicked the tip of his finger with the knife he’d been using to cut tomatoes.  
“Shit.” He muttered under his breath. He made his way to the sink to rinse the affected finger. Will chuckled. He secretly enjoyed when Hannibal swore, since it happened so infrequently.   
“You laugh at my pain William.” Said Hannibal, but there was a trace of a smile on his face. But Will’s mind was already gone again, back to the clown. What was the motive? Why a clown? There were so many questions he was struggling to answer. Not that that was particularly different from any other case he worked. The details would plague his mind until he could finally put all the pieces together. Will had a routine now. Go over the case, agonize over all the details, go to Hannibal’s house, agonize over the details again, rinse and repeat until something clicked. And something would always click, but it hadn’t clicked yet with this case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude how nice would it be to like. Cook with Hannibal. I feel like it would be such a nice time because you know he doesn’t need the help but he likes it. He loves to cook with people even if they have no idea what they’re doing because I think it’s the company and the human interaction with people he likes that really matters to him. Anyways.


	5. Madness understands Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what the “final touch” on the clowns last murder was. Also clown has a semi girlfriend?

In some ways they were just like any other serial killer. They liked to keep trophies. They knew it was risky, having something that could tie you back to the murder. But risk was a part of the experience. If the performance was too clean, it would be boring. Still, they made sure to be very careful with their precious souvenirs. After all, they wouldn’t want them falling into the wrong hands. That’s worse than being caught. Their latest work had been a maintenance man. He was chosen because he, like the clown, was twisted. Not in the same way though. They were coiled in opposite directions from each other. The maintenance man revelled in doing harm to innocents. Children. He liked to watch the purity leave their eyes. His life’s goal was to capture this moment on film. The clown wanted to know why. How. Their life’s goal was to get close to that kind of madness. To feel it. To understand. And only madness can understand madness.   
They had taken his right index finger. The digit that pressed the shutter button on the camera. Taxidermy and preservation was a special interest of theirs, so the finger was now at home in a jar. A wet specimen.   
Their phone buzzed.   
“I need you 😣”  
“🙄omw. (slut)”  
“Excuse me I am a harlot and you will put respect on that name. Now hurry up”  
“Dude you know the make up takes a hot second to put on”  
“Well pick up the pace!”  
“The pace is being picked up. See u in ten”  
They had met her quite by accident and were very glad they did. She provided an escape. A chance to feel wanted as they were. She didn’t know about their little murder hobby but frankly she would probably be even more attracted to them if she did find out. Their relationship was born not of love, but of lust, and it was probably better that way seeing as neither of them were particularly good at “love”. But they still both benefited from the arrangement. The clown wanted to be wanted, and the girl wanted kinky sex with a very attractive clown. It was a match made in hell so to speak.


End file.
